


Enemy Lines

by Zaadi



Series: Alternate Third Series [3]
Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodshed, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-20
Updated: 2010-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaadi/pseuds/Zaadi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Merlin and Arthur chase a manticore that is rampaging across the land, Morgause puts another curse on Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enemy Lines

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this story during the break between series two and three: needless to say, my manticore differs significantly from canon. Also, I tagged this story 'bloodshed' because there is some potentially-disturbing description, depending on your tastes, but nothing I felt approached the 'graphic depictions of violence' warning.

**3.3 Enemy Lines**

* * *

Arthur knelt down to examine the tracks.  The sobs of several of the villagers were faint around them.  Merlin watched Arthur spread wide his fingers over the print which had recently been left in the mud: a giant paw—Arthur’s hand barely covered the base, the toes of the track extending past his fingers, fat and foreboding.  Scratches in the mud, deep cuts riven through the wet earth indicated dangerous, lethal claws.

“It’s voice, my god, it’s . . . voice . . .” a middle-aged woman stood next to Sir Lamorack, whose ginger brows furrowed with concern, whose red cloak flamed in contrast with the mud and the soil and the overall grime of the ravaged village.  And though she stood next to Lamorack and even seemed to be answering his questions, her eyes stared off into the nowhere distance and she vaguely swayed with shock.  “It’s voice.”

Merlin once again looked around.  The village was a border town, and though Camelot barely had any business there, a few knights wandered the destruction—the walls of houses ripped out, the roofs that had come collapsing down, the rust brown stain of drying blood in the various odd places, and of course, the bodies.  Someone had covered many of them up with blankets or coats, but many still lay bare.  The wounded—those who had managed to keep breathing—had been carried into one of the buildings still intact, and villagers scrambled in and out, carrying buckets and blankets and whatever other supplies could be mustered.  But the bodies—the dead—all strewn about.  What looked like arrows protruded from some of them, but Merlin knew that they were not arrows.  They were the deadly poisonous stingers thrown from the tail of the terrible creature which they’d been hunting for almost a day now.

Arthur wandered over to one of the blanket-covered bodies.  It was only half the size of a grown man.  A child.  Merlin gasped a quiet breath as Arthur squatted and lifted the corner of the blanket, folding it over and revealing the mangled face of the poor victim.

Not a child. 

A man, his beard caked in blood and mud, his eyes wide and vacant.

“Ripped him in half.”  Both Arthur and Merlin turned and saw an older woman crouched between two barrels that were standing beside a busted door.  Her back was to  the wall behind her as she sat, her legs sticking out straight in front of her, her hands folded like a good little girl’s.  She stared at Arthur.

“Ripped him in half.”  Her voice was surprisingly firm.  “Ripped more than a few.  But he didn’t just kill, he ate.”

“He?”  Merlin took a step closer, but she didn’t take her eyes off Arthur.

“Face like a man.  Almost like a man.  At least, from a distance.  He had a voice, too, like . . . .”  She leaned her head back against the wall and lifted her gaze up to the sky.  “Like a sultry paramour.”

She said nothing more.  Arthur took a last look at the body beside him before covering it back up.  He stood.

“Lamorack,” Arthur called to the red-haired knight who ran swiftly over.  “Return to Camelot.  Update the King—tell him I’m not going to stop until this creature is destroyed.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Knights of Camelot!”

Merlin and a half-dozen men fell into step behind Arthur as he made his way to the village’s edge where another seven were waiting with the horses.  A few were sitting in their saddles, the others were standing by.  Lamorack mounted one of the horses and took off through the forest.

“How will we find it?” Merlin asked.

“It’s following the road—that’s how it feeds—it’s stalking travelers and attacking villages.”  Arthur jumped into the saddle and the knights followed suit.  Merlin was the last to get on his horse, and as Arthur chided him to hurry up, Merlin took one last look at the devastated town before joining the race down the road.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

The woman walked toward Camelot following a path only she could discern through the grass and trees.  She wore peasant clothes and carried a small bundle slung across her back. She walked with a staff in her right hand, and as she walked the wind tore strands of black hair away from her ponytail and whipped them across her eyes.   It was hard to place her age.  She was not old.  She was not a child.  But there was a purposefulness behind her black eyes that spoke of experience—and an errand.

She stopped.  The setting sun blazoned the cloudy sky various shades of pink and orange, and as she stared into the distance she might have seen the colors reflected on Camelot’s white stones.  But the city was buried beneath a fat mist—a giant dome of fog that had been capped over it by some mischievous force.  The woman’s black eyes scanned the vista before her.  A voice carried on the wind.  She turned her head and saw through the trees a woman standing atop a bump of a hill, watching the fog that had overrun Camelot.  She wore a tight red dress, her blond hair loose and teased by the wind—her lips turned up in a half-smile, the source of her amusement known only to her.

The woman in the peasant dress leaned on her staff and watched, her black eyes swallowing everything.

~

Inside, Uther was antsy.

“Magic.  I’d bet my life on it.”  He paced the throne room, watched by a wary court.  Noblemen and knights lined the outer edges of the candlelit hall.  Sir Lamorack, washed and rested, stood next to Gaius near the front where the agitated king looked ready to punch something. 

“Sire,” Gaius offered, “a fog is a relatively harmless—”

“Or cover for something sinister.  I want patrols searching the city, every inch is to be guarded.  Anything suspicious is to be reported immediately, and any persons involved arrested.  And until this fog lifts, the city is under curfew.”

Several of the guards left the room as the nobles exchanged uneasy glances.  Gaius stood stoic, waiting for:

“Camelot is under attack.”

Gaius nodded his head vaguely, acknowledging that Uther was probably right.

“Gaius—any insights?”

“I’m afraid not, sire.  Whoever’s behind this might just be trying to steal something or merely frighten the people.”

“I will not be intimidated.  Whoever is responsible WILL be found and punished.”

Gaius stole a glance at Morgana, who had not moved from her chair by the throne.  Or moved in it.  She had remained seated with her hands folded, her green dress impeccable, her mouth silent.  She had been watching the proceedings like a spectator, one who had no involvement in the outcome of events one way or another.  She was stone, her face unreadable.

“Sire, perhaps we should send for Arthur to return.”

Sir Lamorack stepped forward.  “Sire, Prince Arthur seemed determined to hunt down the beast, the—”

“Manticore,” Gaius said.  “At least if the descriptions are accurate.”

“—the carnage it’s leaving in its wake—I don’t think the Prince will abandon the chase just for fog.”

“Though we’ve yet to learn its true purpose,” Gaius said.

“We know the purpose of the manticore.”

“And Arthur will find it and kill it,” Uther said.  “Gaius, discover what you can about this fog and if there’s a means to fight it.”

“Sire.”  Gaius bowed, and exited the hall muttering to himself, _fight fog without using magic—great._

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Arthur had finally decided to stop for the night.  The forest canopy obscured the sky so the only light came from the glowing embers of the former campfire by which the Prince, strangely, seemed to be sleeping.  Merlin was curled up beside him, but was clearly awake, his eyes wide and alert.

On four sides of the camp four sentries kept watch.  Sir Cadoc guarded the northwest corner.  Two knights lay on the ground nearby, ready to relieve him.  One breathed evenly on his back, but the other tossed and turned, causing his chainmail to scratch the ground with an annoying cadence.

“Madoc, you’re supposed to be sleeping,” Cadoc said softly, his eyes never leaving the surrounding forest.

“I am sleeping.  I’m sleeping like a baby at its mother’s breast that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to worry about.”

“Afraid of nightmares, Madoc?”  Taran, the even-breather, wasn’t sleeping either, though his eyes remained shut.

“Just the one we’re chasing.”

“You’re forgetting Prince Arthur’s success rate.”  Cadoc nodded an assent to his left, acknowledging some gesture from his fellow sentry.

“And you’re forgetting that we mere mortal knights aren’t always as lucky as he is,” Taran said, his eyes still closed.

“Thanks, Taran—it’s like the beast is dead already. . . . Aren’t you a little scared?” Madoc said.

Small nocturnal creatures scampered across the forest floor unseen.  An owl hooted, wings flapped, the sound of a tiny animal snatched from the ground entertained the night.

“Taran?”

“It’s not relevant.”  He rolled over, putting his back to Madoc.

“Cadoc?”

“I’m more afraid of not stopping it.”

“Well aren’t you gallant.”

“Get some rest,” Cadoc whispered, still scanning the darkness around him.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Sir Lamorack pushed through the doors of the throne room and glanced around him hesitantly.  Morning light streamed in.  The council was milling about the central table, as were various courtiers and servants.  Conversations were being whispered—people grouped conspiratorially in twos and threes—and yet there was a hushed jocularity that undercut the paranoia of the previous evening.

“What news?”  Uther turned toward Lamorack, but did not otherwise move from the head of the table where he stood.  Gaius beside him folded his hands at the question and peered at Lamorack.

“Strange news, sire.  The baker in the lower town was reported missing this morning.  When we checked his home he and his family were gone.  But there was a dog, a rat, a sow and a foal in the house.  The sow . . . seemed to  . . . know its way around the kitchen?”

“Are you saying the baker and his family were transformed into animals?”  Uther asked.

“Isn’t it far more likely that a few animals managed to get into the empty house and simply started eating the available food?”  Gaius directed the question at Lamorack.

“Well, the baker had no reason to run off unexpectedly, and as I said, the animals seem quite familiar with the house.  And I’m pretty sure the dog and the sow bowed when we entered.  The foal’s a bit unruly though—which I suppose is to be expected.”

“Expected?”  The edge in Uther’s voice gave Lamorack pause.

“They, um, recently had a baby.”

Uther turned, his jaw clenched and his eyes perusing the space in front of him as if a quick reflex could pluck some solution from the air.

“Gaius?”

“Sire, it would be unwise to jump to conclusions at this point.  I’d like to take a look at the animals myself before determining the cause of the baker’s disappearance.  Or if it’s at all related to last night’s fog.”

“Of course there’s a connection, how can you doubt it?”

“Healthy skepticism, sire.”

“Well get me healthy answers.”

“Sire,” Lamorack said softly, avoiding eye contact, “there, um, there is one other thing.” He looked at Gaius, then at Uther, and then continued with greater assurance.  “A dark-haired woman was reported entering the baker’s house early this morning.”

“Did anyone recognize her?”  Gaius asked.

“No.  Only a few people saw her, and from a distance at that.  They could only say that she had dark hair, and that she left the baker’s less than a minute later.”

Gaius closed his eyes.

“Get these witnesses,” Uther ordered.  “Round up every dark-haired woman and see if they recognize her.  This witch will be found.”

Lamorack bowed and left with another of the guards.

“And if the witnesses can’t identify her?”  Gaius was staring hard at Uther.  “Or what if she was a friend of the family who reported them missing in the first place?”

“Then she will gladly step forward and clear her name.”  Uther glared back at Gaius.  “An innocent person would hardly run away from the house of a friend.”

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Merlin watched Arthur contemplate the road ahead.  Yes, it was a fork in the road, the left branch clearly more traveled than the right one.

“If it’s following the road to find more villages, it will go that way,” Merlin pointed left. 

Arthur, Merlin, and the dozen knights behind them took up the width of the road as they sat on their horses, looking to the left fork, then the right fork, then to the broken brambles and tree limbs and general destruction leading through the forest to the right of them.  Perpendicular to the road.

“But if that was done by this creature, then we should follow it.”  Merlin again prodded, but Arthur remained silent.

“And where would a man-eating monster be going in the deep, dark village-less woods?”  asked Sir Taran, directly behind Merlin.

“Maybe there were travelers on the road and they ran off, and the creature chased them.”

“Lucky for us this thing leaves unique tracks.”  Arthur turned and looked at Merlin, then said to Taran, “go into the woods and see if you can find any.”

Taran and Sir Cadoc jumped off their horses and headed into the woods.

“Go see if there’s anything along the left fork,” Arthur said to two other knights.  “You,” he pointed, “right fork.”

The four knights set their horses to the road and separated at the fork.

“Make sure to check along the side of the road as well,” Arthur shouted.  One knight from each pair jumped off his horse and started looking through the underbrush.  Merlin looked back and forth, and glanced to the right where Taran and Cadoc had disappeared.  The remaining knights patted their horses and looked around, wary.

“Sire!”  Sir Cadoc’s voice sounded through the forest.

Arthur jumped off his horse and ran into the woods.  Merlin dismounted as well and followed, leading both his and Arthur’s horses.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sir Rigel signal to the knights on the road ahead.

When Merlin reached Arthur, he was bowing over the crouching Taran, who was pointing to the faint traces of the track on the ground.

“But why would it be going this way?”  Cadoc stood next to them, looking at Arthur.  “There’re no traces of blood or any footprints of men—it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You don’t have to understand it, Cadoc,” Arthur said.  “We just have to kill it.”

The rest of the knights approached, some leading their horses, some still mounted.  Arthur crept forward and touched a small tree limb that had been bent in half.  He spotted another print slightly ahead of that, and pushed further forward still.  Cadoc and Taran also examined the ground and brush for the creature’s path, as Merlin and the other knights followed carefully behind.

 

Two days passed.  Arthur’s band traveled north and east.  They hunted what they could and slept poorly.  They traveled through forests and valleys, but never caught up to the creature they sought.  Villages they passed were decimated, farms abandoned—or at least, Merlin hoped they had merely been abandoned, but the looks exchanged among the men told another version of events.  Always, they were just behind the beast. 

_Do you think it’s intelligent?_ Merlin asked once.

_Are you saying it’s tricking us?_ Madoc turned abruptly, causing Taran behind him to trip.

_It’s not tricking us._ Arthur smacked Merlin on the back of the head.

_Maybe it is,_ Sir Cadoc had said _.  We have no allies this far east.  We’ve been traversing one unfriendly territory to the next_.  _If we’re caught, we’ll be lucky to get ransomed._

_We won’t be ambushed by enemy soldiers—everyone wants to see this thing dead._   Arthur picked up his pace, determined, his eyes locked on the tracks before them.  The creature had not once failed to leave a trail.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Two days passed.  Every dark-haired woman that could be found had been paraded in front of the witnesses—the witnesses who saw her outside the baker’s the first night, and the witnesses who claimed to have seen her around the tavern where the keeper had vanished into a thin rabbit with mottled brown fur.  There was no way to tell if the second witnesses had seen the same woman as the first, if it had been a different woman altogether, or if a rumor had been born from steeping panic.

Gaius had approached Morgana after his visit to the tavern where the skittish rabbit had tried to serve him ale.  _I guess he was just trying to prove his identity,_ he told her. 

_So you believe this mist is transforming people then?_

_It’s getting hard not to draw that conclusion, and unfortunately I see no reason to believe that it’s going to stop._   He had convinced her to walk with him, and they had passed the procession of dark-haired women.  Gaius had made sure that as he and Morgana walked by, her back was to the witnesses.

Nothing.  No reaction from the witnesses, who had simply continued to stare at each successive woman the guards put in front of them.

Morgana and Gaius had moved on.  The only reaction from her was when she finally asked why he had wanted her to walk with him.

_Oh, well—I was hoping I might borrow Gwen.  Merlin usually helps me with these sorts of things, but—well.  If you can spare her, that is._

_Of course, anything to help._

She had seemed genuinely concerned.

~

The aging Sir Malick and his family had turned into chickens.  The knight, a tired rooster; a tired hen, his wife; and three younger hens, his daughters—they were all clucking about the suite.  His son, a knight himself, was unharmed, but stared agape at the animals that were his family.

“I suspect fowl play,” a knight whispered, only to be elbowed by Sir Lamorack and slapped by another of the five knights waiting inside the doorway.

“Where were you last night?”  Gaius was crouching on the floor, tilting his head at the chickens while Gwen stood beside him, her hands folded.  Uther stood at the window, his eyes on the ground, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword.  Sir Malick’s son just kept staring at the chickens.  Another knight answered for him.

“We were patrolling the main gate.”

“Is it relevant?”  Uther turned his gaze to Gaius.

“I’m trying to figure out if this enchantment targets blood relations or living spaces.  It seems to transform whoever happens to be in a chosen place.”  Gaius stood up.

“The fog picks a random room in the city and turns everybody inside it into animals?”  Sir Lamorack asked glancing out of the corner of his eye at Sir Malick’s son, who was still staring at his family.  Of chickens.  “Why only one room?”

“The fog is cover,” Uther said, “it’s the witch who’s doing this.  Clearly she needs to be present to perform her sorcery.  Redouble your efforts.  _Find her_.”

Sir Lamorack and the other knights bowed their heads and left the room, one of them gently leading Sir Malick’s son while whispering “c’mon, it’ll be alright.”

“Sire, we’re going to need a better description than ‘dark hair’,” Gaius said.

“And how do we get that—ask the chickens?”

“Why not?”  The voice came from the doorway.  Gaius, Uther and Gwen turned to see a graceful, raven-haired woman wearing servant’s clothes and staring at them through black eyes.

Uther gasped.  Gaius stuttered something quietly to himself.  Gwen looked from Uther to Gaius to the woman to Gaius, who finally said,

“W-why not ask the chickens?”

“They’re not chickens.  That’s correct isn’t it—you believe that the family living here was just physically transformed?  So they’re still people, even if they don’t look like it at the moment.”  The woman addressed all three of them.  Uther was ashen, Gaius shaken.  Gwen gazed from one to the other, and no one responded to the dark-haired woman in the doorway.  Uther didn’t even call for the guards.

“So all you have to do is designate one side of the room ‘yes’,” she pointed to the opposite wall with a window in it, “and the other side ‘no’,” she pointed to the wall with the door, “and ask yes-or-no questions.”

Gaius made a noise.  “Ask what kind—”

Gwen touched his arm—she was staring at the window wall.  Gaius looked.  Uther looked.  All five chickens were pressed against the wall, staring back at Gaius and their King.

“I’m surprised this didn’t occur to you earlier,” the woman said to Gaius.

“Yes—no—it didn’t.”  Gaius turned and paused, sizing her up.  “I’m sorry, what was your name?”

The woman smiled broadly.  “You’ll also be interested in the button on the table.”

Gwen moved to the table and picked up a tiny gold button with an ornate design carved into it.  The woman’s black eyes studied Gwen as she rolled the button between her fingers.

“You are a seamstress.”

Gwen looked at her.  Gaius watched the exchange as Uther began to regain his composure.  Gwen nodded.  “Yes.”

“Then you’ll know what to look for.”  The woman tilted her chin up and said boldly toward the opposite wall, “you’ll need to move back to the center of the room once you’ve answered the question to avoid confusion.”

Gaius, Uther and Gwen watched as the chickens stepped neatly to the center of the room where they huddled as a group, each tiny eye awaiting the next question.

“She’s gone,” Uther said, looking at the doorway.  But he didn’t move.

“Did you recognize her?”  Gaius said to the chickens.  Each one made its way to the doorway wall.

Gaius sighed.  The chickens moved back.

“Are you lying out of fear?”  Uther said.

The chickens moved to the doorway wall.  Uther clenched his jaw.

“Sire, she did just help us—a strange thing to do if she’s behind it.”  Gaius bore his gaze at Uther, who had started pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists.  Uther glared at Gaius before bursting from the room.

“Guards!!!”

Gaius watched after Uther silently.  He turned around, half lost in thought, and saw Gwen still standing there, waiting.  He smiled weakly at her—“well, let’s see if we can’t glean any new information.”

~ 

Nightfall. 

Again the mist had descended.

Uther sat alone at dinner, his food untouched before him.  He slouched in his chair, his chin upon his knuckles, deep in thought.  At the other end of the room the double doors opened and Gaius entered.

The doors closed.  Gaius stood solid, looking at Uther from across the span of the long wooden table.  They were alone.

“Gaius—Gaius, tell me there’s an explanation for what happened this morning.” 

“I wish I could, but I don’t have one—at least, not a scientific one.”

“The Lady Rhiannon is _dead_.”

“I know, sire.  And even if she were alive, she’d be much older than the woman we saw.  Although . . .”

“Physician, there are enough games being played right now, don’t start another one.”

“Well, the Lady Rhiannon and Gorlois did have another daughter.”  Gaius began walking along the table toward Uther.

“Who also died.”

“We never saw that.”  Gaius was halfway to the head of the table.

“Of course we didn’t—she died before Rhiannon ever came to Camelot.”

“So the Lady Rhiannon said.”

“Why would she lie about her own daughter?”

Gaius was now standing beside Uther looking down at him.  “I don’t know,” he said quietly.  “What I do know is that the Lady Rhiannon was very perceptive.  I know that she fled Tintagel before it was destroyed, and I know that she said her daughter died in the flight and that she said she buried her.  I also know—as do you—that she only ever showed her husband where that grave is.”

Uther looked away from Gaius to the food in front of him. 

“I don’t see how the woman we saw today could look so much like Rhiannon without being related.”

“I know of every child they had,” Uther said.

“Either you don’t, or Rhiannon lied about her daughter’s death.”

Uther leaned his face in his hand, his fingers framing his eyes.  The room was silent, and the mist outside painted the windows in fat, obscuring gray.

“Her advice was useful,” Gaius offered, “there’s no evidence that she is the sorcerer behind this.”

“Leave me.” 

Gaius bowed and started walking back along the table’s length.

“Oh, and Gaius,” Uther looked up as Gaius stopped and turned.  “Not one word to Morgana about this.”

“Sire.”  Gaius bowed and left.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

“Sire,” Sir Cadoc said, “we must have entered Leodogran’s territory by now.”

“Is that bad?” Merlin asked.  They were deep inside a thick forest—the foliage filtered the sunlight, obscuring the time of day.  Each man led his horse, except for Merlin who led Arthur’s horse as well as his own.  As for the Prince, he was following the tracks with his sword drawn, and his shield up.  Merlin didn’t know how he managed to keep his eyes both on the ground and straight in front of him, but Arthur was clearly prepared for an ambush.  The knights behind him likewise had either their shields on or their swords drawn.

“Leodogran’s a sorcerer.”  Sir Madoc brandished his shield and walked like a skittish mutt.

“He’s not a sorcerer,” Sir Taran said, sword in one hand, reins in the other.  “He just hires them.”

“Is that true?”  Merlin asked Arthur.

“Yes—Leodogran encourages the practice of magic.”  Arthur didn’t take his eyes off the scenery in front of him.

“Your father must love him.”

“Maybe he’s the one who sent the creature,” Madoc said to Sir Rigel beside him, who nodded.

“We don’t know that,” Merlin said, looking from Madoc to Arthur.

“We know it’s a bad idea to be caught by his men.”  Sir Cadoc also wore a shield, but walked close to his horse’s saddle where his sword was easily accessible.

“Can’t we just skirt the edge of his territory, then?”  Merlin was the only one who didn’t have any weapons drawn or armor on.  He moved up so that he was walking side by side with Arthur.  

“No,” Arthur said, turning his head slightly so that he was almost talking directly into Merlin’s ear.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re _well into_ Leodogran’s territory by now.”

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Gwen rushed into Gaius’s chambers.

“None of the buttons match.”

“None of the buttons match?”  Gaius looked up from the book he was reading.  Beside him on the table stood two stacks of books pushing aside the unlit candles and apothecary equipment that normally sat there.  Atop one of the stacks of books sat a plate with the remains of Gaius’s lunch.

“I looked through the entire wardrobe of Sir Malick and his family—including his son’s—”

“How is the young man?”

“Not so good—And none of them have buttons that match this one.”  Gwen held up the ornate gold button that she’d been carrying around for the past day.

“That doesn’t surprise me.  I revisited the other homes and found an identical button in each one—including this morning’s”

“What does it mean?  Was the woman there this morning—could you ask her?”

“I’m afraid she hasn’t been seen since—by anyone.”

“But if the button doesn’t mean anything, why did she point it out, and why is there one in every house where people have been transformed into animals?”

“Unless the button does mean something, and we just don’t know it yet.”

“Do you really think she’s trying to help?”

“We can’t say for certain just yet,” Gaius sighed.  “So we’d better find out everything the critters—people—the people who’ve been turned into critters—know about these buttons.”

~

Morgana sat at her window watching the sky.  Below in the streets, people were loitering.  Despite the curfew, nobody was in a hurry to get home.  Home was where the sorcerer attacked.  Home was where people stopped being people.  Yet at the same time, nobody wanted to be out in the streets when the fog moved in.  And how the fog moved in was curiosity du jour.  It was the topic of conversation in every corner of Camelot—it’s what those below Morgana’s window were talking about now, if she could have heard them.  Because talking about the fog meant not talking about the transformations.  So the fog rolled in—no, it crept up through the ground—no, it seeped out through the stone walls of the city—no, it descended from the sky.

Morgana watched the sky.  It was absolutely clear and blue, with the sun just beginning to set.  In her hand Morgana held a small dark-blue bag.  It was open, and her fingers played with the numerous gold buttons—each one ornately carved—that were piled inside.

She turned toward the door.  Had she heard a noise?  She drew the strings tight, closing the bag, putting it in the back of a drawer she then locked.  It was a small bag, after all.  Morgana moved behind the changing screen and began removing her dress.  Gwen entered.

“Morgana?”

“Here, Gwen.”

“Oh, let me help you with that.”  Gwen moved toward the screen.

“It’s quite alright, Gwen, I’ve got it.  How’s Gaius’s investigation coming?”  Morgana handed Gwen her dress, which Gwen proceeded to smoothen out. 

“Well, he doesn’t know how to stop it yet, the transformations or the fog.”  Gwen opened a wardrobe and took out a night gown that she handed to Morgana.

“So just more conversations with animals, then?”

Gwen hung Morgana’s dress up in the wardrobe, then turned toward the green cloak draped across her bed.  “Every single one today.  It took hours.”  Gwen picked up the cloak.  “We had to ask about the buttons.”  Underneath Morgana’s cloak shone a small golden button, ornately carved.

Morgana emerged from behind the screen.  “Buttons?”

Gwen picked up the button from the bed.  “Buttons.”  She furrowed her brow.  “Just like this one.  Morgana, where’d you get this?”   

Morgana stared at the button, her lips slightly parted, her breath suspended.  “I found it.  It’s so intricate and beautiful, I thought surely someone would miss it and come asking for it—no reason to leave it in the street.  Gwen, why are looking at me like that?”

“Because everyone who’s been transformed in the night found a button exactly like this during the day—oh Morgana.”

“That’s ridiculous Gwen, cheer up—I found that button days ago, before the first fog, in fact.  Gaius must be reading too much into coincidence.”

“I don’t—I don’t think it’s a coincidence, Morgana.”

“Of course it is.”

Gwen still held the button up between her fingers, bracing the space between her and Morgana.  Morgana closed her hands over Gwen’s and the button.

“If it makes you feel better we’ll put the button in some barrel, or closet or an empty room.”

Gwen looked up from their clasped hands, which now concealed the little golden talisman, to meet Morgana’s eyes.

“We’ll also tell Gaius,” Morgana smiled.  “He should probably know that he misinterpreted whatever the animals were telling you—understandable, given the way you’re forced to communicate.”  Morgana let go of Gwen’s hand and turned to grab a robe.  Gwen didn’t move until Morgana touched her arm.  “Come on, Gwen.”

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

It seemed to Merlin that if he squinted, he could just make out the faint rumor of a path in front of them.  But perhaps it was just his imagination—a dream trying to be dreamt in the morning light since he had not slept the previous night.  The days were blending together.  The knights were all still leading their horses, as best they could.  The underbrush had grown dense, along with the trees, whose roots had been recruited to trip them up.  They passed islands of rock, and in the distance heard the rush of a river.  Or maybe that was just the wind through the trees. 

“Is that a path?”  Sir Madoc asked, straining his neck to peer around the knights in front of him.

“It looks like it,” Merlin said.

“Barely,” someone else murmured.  Most of the men were jumpy, paranoid, their eyes wandering through the wall of forest around them like trapped animals.  Arthur again had his sword drawn and his shield raised, picking his way cautiously.

“Well at least we know somebody travels out here—otherwise there wouldn’t be a path.”  Madoc scratched his neck, still holding his horse’s reins.  Taran glared at him.

“Unless it’s an old and forgotten trail being reclaimed by the forest,” Cadoc scanned the woods around them—it was slightly less dense than before, and there clearly was a trail, a crack in the underbrush in front of them. 

“Or maybe it’s an illusion conjured by Leodogran’s cabal of sorcerers—we’re being lead into a trap.”  Taran said.

“Quiet!”  Arthur took his eyes off the forest long enough to throw a look at Sir Taran.

“Sorry, sire.”  Taran lowered his eyes and turned his head away, back to the surrounding woods.

“You know, the salty man might have a point,” a deep voice purred.

They froze, their hearts jumping into their throats.  They grabbed their swords, their shields.  Fully armed, they glanced around, twisting, turning, straining their senses, each trying to find the creature they all knew owned that voice.

“That’s.  Not.  Very.  Civil.”  The voice came from the right.  As the dulcet tenor spoke, a reddish-brown body lifted up from the thick underbrush where it had been crouching.  The horses reared, pulling on their reins.  The creature was three times the size of lion, which was roughly its shape.  Its claws remained submerged, but it had immense dragon-like wings and a long, massive tail that it swished in anticipation.  At the end of that tail was a flesh-and-blood mace, a ball of spikes that the men recognized from the dead bodies which had displayed them.  Leaning forward, the creature brought its man-like face eye to eye with Sir Madoc, who stared agape.

“Yes—you wanted to see me?”  It smiled, and all human resemblance vanished.  Its huge jaw was as large as a man’s head and contained three rows of teeth, one behind the other.  Madoc lifted up his shield and punched the creature with it.  Taran beside him swung down hard with his sword, which was swiftly dodged.  Arthur and the rest of the knights rushed toward it, but it pounced up into the sky and landed on the other side of the group. 

Swishing its tail, four small spears flew at the knights.

“Shields!”  Arthur pulled Merlin down beside him, putting them both beneath his shield.  Behind them, someone fell, his shield and mail pierced through.  Arthur charged the creature, thrusting his sword, trying to inflict any wound he could.  The other knights copied his movements as the horses whinnied in panic—at least one man was trying to keep his from bolting.  “Poor creatures, tripped into a trap” the manticore chuckled, swinging its tail again, a volley of spines raining over its head onto them.  Arthur braced his shield to no effect—a spine punched through, only missing Arthur’s eyes because Merlin had flashed his—Arthur stared at the sharp tip hovering in line with his pupil.

A knight crashed into Merlin and Arthur, knocking them down.  The man’s chest was open, the creature’s claws having shredded through his mail.

The manticore swung its tail as a mace, throwing men aside, breaking through armor, killing at least one horse.  The knights kept attacking.  Arthur pushed aside the dead knight and clamored toward the creature.  “Can’t we live in peace?” it purred still.  Merlin had never heard such silky malice.  Arthur threw his sword at it, and seemed to pierce its shoulder—but the manticore scratched it off as if it had been nothing more than a prickly burr.  Arthur grabbed a crossbow and fired, but the arrow bothered the creature less than the sword had—it merely watched Arthur reload and fire again with a detached curiosity. 

Arthur didn’t reach for another arrow—he stared at the manticore in front of him—thinking of a new tactic.  The creature sauntered towards him.  Arthur took a tentative step back.  Many of the men behind him were wounded, bruised, or unconscious.  The manticore stared only at Arthur.

“Retreat!”  Arthur shouted, keeping his eyes locked on the beast before him.

“Sire!”

“Go!”

The men still standing backed away, steering the remaining horses with them.  Arthur again took a step back as the manticore advanced.  It made a sudden leap at Arthur, its jaws wide, its paws cupped, ready to cradle its lunch.  Arthur ducked.

The manticore collapsed on the ground, snarling, punched by some—some _thing._ Merlin.  Standing a ways behind Arthur, his hand raised, his eyes piercing blue and determined.

“Cheating!”  The manticore snarled—it turned and bounded off, spreading its wings and lifting up into the sky.  It circled once, then flew away. 

Arthur stood up and watched it go, then closed his eyes.  Merlin slowly approached him, unsure if he should keep his distance.  He touched Arthur’s shoulder.  “Arthur?”

Arthur opened his eyes.  “See to the men.” 

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Uther had almost ordered a celebration when Morgana had walked into the hall to join him for breakfast.  Unchanged.  Walking beside her, Gwen had beamed as if Morgana had accomplished some extraordinary feat.  Only Gaius had remained stoic—no miracle had occurred.  Morgana had hated Uther’s fuss—it had made her . . . uncomfortable.

Now she walked the streets of Camelot, wearing the most modest dress she owned.  It still wasn’t enough for her to blend in.  She watched the people passing her—each giving a respectful little bow and a _m’lady_ —going about their daily lives.  They all knew her and yet were total strangers to her.  Camelot was a large kingdom—one of the largest in the land in fact—and often seemed to be the only world that existed.

Morgana managed to slip outside the gates—either the people and guards around her didn’t notice, or were too intimidated to question her.  She was alone, wandering outside the walls of the city.  She meandered abreast of the walls until she saw ahead of her a stranger painting the stones with some pattern.  It was a woman, wearing peasant dress, her dark hair pulled behind her, focused only on her work.  Morgana approached her.

“Excuse me, do I know you?”

“It’s possible.”  The woman continued her movements unbroken, unfazed by Morgana’s presence.  She painted broad strokes upon the wall with what appeared to be nothing more than water—a bucket lay on the ground by her feet.

“What are you doing?”

“A ward.”  She turned to meet Morgana’s eye.  “To protect the city,” she finished painting.

“You’re the woman people have spotted.  If Uther catches you, you’ll be executed.”

“Then it’s a good thing he’s not going to catch me.”  The woman picked up the bucket and began walking along the wall.  Morgana jogged up to walk beside her.  Neither spoke.  After moving some distance along, the woman stopped, placed the bucket on the ground, and began painting a pattern on the wall—but the brush seemed to leave only a wetness in its wake, one that dried immediately.  The woman’s ward was invisible.

“If someone sees you using magic, Uther won’t care that it’s for protection,” Morgana said again, “you will be executed.”

“No one will notice me.”

“I’m watching you right now.”

“You won’t say anything.”

“How do you know?”

“I know.”  She glanced at Morgana then returned to her task.

“I do know you.”

“It’s possible.”

“Do you always talk in circles?”

“Do you always repeat the obvious?”  She dropped the brush into the bucket and turned so they were face to face.  “What happened to you, Morgana—you didn’t used to be afraid.”

Startled by the sound of her name, Morgana stared askance at the black-eyed woman in front of her.  “Who are you?”

“My name is Elayne.  And I am nobody—just the ghost of a rumor.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Camelot’s guardian is gone—somebody has to stop you and Morgause.”

“How’d—”

Boring into Morgana’s eyes, Elayne lifted up her hand.  “You dropped this.”  Elayne held in her outstretched fingers a tiny gold button.  Morgana stared at the button, slowly taking it in her own hand and lifting it up to contemplate the ornate pattern etched into it.

“You’re helping Uther,” she tucked the button into her sleeve.  “Do you think he’ll be grateful?”

“Not everything is about Uther, Morgana,” Elayne said gently.  “Is that what she told you—get Uther—that that was her plan?”

Morgana cast her eyes down, at the wall, at the surrounding countryside.  “Uther spreads nothing but hate.”

“And you are more than happy to participate.”

Morgana snapped her attention back to Elayne.

“You do have a choice in all this, you know.”  Elayne took a step toward her.

“That’s exactly what Morgause said.”  Morgana stepped aside.

“Probably the only honest thing she’s told you.”

“And you’re a bastion of truthfulness, then?  Why should I believe what you say over Morgause?”

“You shouldn’t.  Judge us by our actions.”

“Your actions put you on Uther’s side.”

“It’s not about sides, Morgana, it’s about what you want.  Do you really _want_ to watch innocent people suffer?  Then how many have to get hurt before your hatred of a single man is satisfied?  And why not simply poison Uther if you want him dead so bad?  Why all this?  It’s a convoluted scheme, you must admit.  Why _this?_ ”

“A demonstration . . . people will see that magic can do good, that Uther’s wrong.”

“So Morgause is going to saunter into the city as Camelot’s savior?  You’ll only show them that magic can stop what it started—you’ll only confirm Uther’s opinion.  And, as you so considerately pointed out, he won’t care that the problem was solved if magic was used, he’ll execute.  That’s a poor demonstration.  No—this ado only makes sense as a threat.”  Elayne picked up her bucket.  “Or perhaps a test of loyalty,” she turned and again walked along Camelot’s outer wall.

“So that’s it?”  Morgana ran to catch up with her.  “You appear out of nowhere, throw some water on a wall, everything returns to normal, and you just go back to from wherever it is you conveniently came?”

“If water on a wall was all it took, I’d have ended this before it began—these charms will only prevent further occurrences.  Reversing the effects . . .” she stopped and put the bucket down.  “Magic isn’t a snap of the fingers or a twitch of the lips, it takes work, it takes understanding.”  She began painting another invisible symbol.  Morgana watched, trying to piece together the pattern.

“What if you fail?”

“You know I won’t.  You trust that I won’t.”  Elayne picked up the bucket and placed her brush down in it.  “You don’t have to wait upon everyone else’s machinations, Morgana,” she put her hand on Morgana’s shoulder.  “Stop making decisions based on what you think will make you feel less afraid.”  Her hand fell down Morgana’s arm.  “Now, go—your maid is looking for you.”  She turned and continued along her way.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Nine knights remained breathing.  Only seven horses had been recovered—two had been killed by the creature, the rest had bolted.  Arthur and Merlin walked in front of the group as they plodded along the path.  Of the men behind them, Sir Rigel was slung across the saddle unconscious—no one had been able to rouse him, Sir Brandt’s left leg had been broken, and Sir Taran’s arm had been brushed by a spine from the manticore’s tail—its poison was affecting him.  Sirs Cadoc and Madoc, both sporting bruises, walked beside Taran’s horse, keeping an eye on him.  All were wounded and sore.  All were silent.

They walked.  The forest didn’t seem to change much.  Taran moaned and had to be steadied.  Merlin watched Arthur who still had his eyes peeled to their surroundings.  But there were no more tracks to follow, only the path.

They walked.  “Do you think it’s going to ambush us again?”  Merlin whispered to Arthur.

“I don’t know.”  Arthur no longer walked with his shield and sword drawn—Merlin carried them.

They walked.  Through the trees a building appeared—a house, still some distance away.  Sounds of a struggle reached their ears, and a shout:  “Somebody _help_!”

Arthur ran.  Merlin and three knights followed.  The house was a simple cabin with a giant hole where the door should have been.  Outside, a group of five men were attacking two women.  One was middle-aged and on the ground, two men towering over her.  The other was a young woman in brown trousers held from behind by one man while another in front of her pushed a sword to her throat.   The last man, who was short and appeared bald, stood off to the side of them.  And when he saw Arthur approach, hissed to his companions.

“Well now, looks like we got ourselves a situation here, don’t it boys.”  The man with the sword turned to face Arthur, but only looked at him, confused.  “Who are you?”

The young woman leaned back and stepped up the man’s thigh to kick him in the face with enough force to knock herself and her captor onto the ground.  An arrow shot one of the men standing over the older woman, the other ran away only to be shot by a second knight.  The thug with the sword touched his hand to his mouth, glancing at the blood.  He made a lunge at Arthur, who thrust his sword into the man’s gut.  The young woman elbowed the man beneath her and rolled away.  The man looked quickly at Arthur and the knights and ran off through the trees, following his friend, who was long gone.

Arthur approached the young woman, who grabbed the sword from the dead man’s hand and took a few steps back.  She wore a white shirt and a strapless blue bodice.  Her long blond hair was tightly braided and her fingers danced across the hilt of the sword as she stood.  The older woman, plump, wearing a grey peasant dress, stood by the corner of the house, reins in her hand, the noses of two horses peeking around.

“It’s alright,” Arthur said to the young woman, “they’re gone.”

“But are your intentions any different?”  She held the sword close, ready to swing.

Arthur sheathed his sword and held up his hands.

“Who are you?”  She looked past Arthur and Merlin to note the other knights trotting up.

Arthur turned to look at them as well.  “My name is—Lucian.  I’m the leader.  Of this group of men.”

Merlin glanced at Arthur, then at the wary young woman still brandishing a sword before them.

“You should probably practice giving false names if you want to travel incognito,” she said.  “Are you our enemy?”

“No.”  Arthur took a step forward, which made her lift the sword up slightly, tilting its tip toward him.  “We’ve been chasing a beast that’s been terrorizing the land—we’ve been after it for days—it attacks villages, towns, anywhere there are people.”

She lowered the sword.  “Does it leave tracks like that?”  She pointed the sword to a mark on the ground by the house.  She and Arthur walked over to it and bent down to look more closely—she watched Arthur’s face as he traced the outlines of the print and nodded.

“Do you know what kind of creature it is?” she asked.

Arthur shook his head.

“What does it do to people?”  She stared intently into the empty house, her eyebrows furrowing.

“You don’t need to know.”  Arthur stood.

She turned to him.  “You just told me,” standing she walked toward the other woman, who was now examining Sir Taran’s arm, the two horses mingling beside Camelot’s knights.  “Sanam?”

The older woman turned.  “No normal creature did this.”  She brushed her fingertips against Taran’s wound—his eyes fluttered and he had to be steadied by Cadoc and Madoc beside him.

“Can they make it to Cameliard?” the younger woman asked, taking in the rest of the knights and their injuries.

“If they can’t there’s not much I can do, not for this kind of poison.”

“Will Leodogran really help us?”  Arthur was standing beside them now.

“Of course he will,” the young woman mounted her horse, “and we’d best hurry.”

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Geoffrey had been consulted—historian, genealogist, archivist—his records could hold a clue to the black-eyed woman’s identity.  Nothing.  Gaius and Uther left Geoffrey to his little library, walking along the empty corridor.

“Tell me you have something, Gaius.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t.  Other than instructing people not to pick up gold buttons, there’s not much we can do at the moment.”

“You must have some thought about how to end the mist.”

“I can’t even begin to understand how it’s conjured in the first place, let alone how to stop it.  Any word from Arthur?”

“Not in the past few days—not since this mist.  The manticore, however is said to be traveling east.”

“Those are dangerous regions—perhaps we should call him back.”

“Arthur can take care of himself—I’m confident he’ll vanquish the beast,” Uther stopped and faced Gaius, “as I’m confident you’ll solve this mystery.”  He turned and walked away, leaving Gaius alone in the hall.

“Sire.”

Gaius plodded his way back to his chambers—lost in thought, lost for direction.  All the questions he knew to ask had been asked.  As he walked through the streets he could hear the people around him murmuring, gossiping, afraid.  It was still hours before sunset, but still people were tense, as if the shadows of daylight held as much danger as the fog of the night.  Gwen caught up to him just outside his chambers. 

“Morgana thought I should stick with you until this is over.”

“I’m sure she did.”  Gaius entered his room—littered with books, parchment, scrolls, letters—his entire library had been unshelved, covering every surface except his workbench, upon which stood tubes and jars, containers of liquids and powders, and a lit candle.

“No luck?” Gwen asked, surveying the mess.

“None.”  Gaius walked over to the table.  “Gwen, have you been in here cleaning?”

“No.”

“Arranging, anything?

“No.  Why—are things not the way you left them?”

“No.”  Gaius picked up a small vial from the table.  There was a note underneath it: _Divide this up evenly, you should use all of it.  Thank you for the supplies.  Elayne._

“What is that?  Gaius?”

“I think it’s our cure.”

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

Speed was difficult.  Sir Rigel had regained consciousness, but Brandt’s broken leg slowed his riding and Taran was worsening—Cadoc and Madoc still walked beside him.  Arthur and Merlin were still on foot as well.  The young woman had not given her name—nor had Arthur—but had inquired about the creature they’d been hunting.

“It sounds like a manticore.”

“You know of it?”  Arthur walked beside her horse.

“Only from stories—it’s a creature of magic.  We’ll have to ask someone more knowledgeable how to kill it.  We’re almost there.”  She nodded her head forward—through the remaining trees a wide plain could be seen—they were at the forest’s border.  In the distance a castle of dark-grey stone stood upon a hill, its towers spiraling skyward, casting long shadows with the descending sun.  The tiny path they were on turned right to intercept the main road that led up to the gates.  “Shall we cut across?”  She asked, spurring her horse through the grass and making a straight line toward the castle.

They were halfway across the field when a shadow passed over them.  The guards on the parapet hustled and bustled about, pointing and shouting.  Arthur grabbed his crossbow and took aim.  A dozen arrows flew at the manticore from the castle wall, most landing harmlessly on the ground. 

“Get everyone inside!”  Arthur again took aim at the manticore landing just behind them.  Through the gates a dozen or so knights rode with lances pointed directly at the creature.

“Now, now,” it said, closing the distance to Merlin.  “Play.  Nice.” 

Merlin felt the heat of its rotten breath as he stared straight back into its icy, preternatural green eyes.

“Merlin!”  Arthur pulled him to one side as three lances crashed into the manticore’s body.  It grunted.  The lances, though buried deep in its side, did no discernable damage—the manticore whipped its tail at the knights of Cameliard, spraying them with poison spines.  Then it shrugged off the lances without losing a single drop of blood.

“Get the Princess inside!”  One of the Cameliard knights shouted.  He was tall, with dark brown hair, and still astride his horse.  With a spear in his hand, he again charged the manticore.

“Princess?”  Arthur looked to the young woman with the long blonde braid—she was trying to steady Taran’s horse while Cadoc and Madoc tried to keep him on it.  Cadoc managed to mount behind Taran and took off toward the gate.  She pulled Madoc onto her own horse and turned her gaze to Arthur.

“Get inside!—my men can handle this—yours are wounded,” she shouted and rode off, two knights from the castle following as her guard.

Arthur signaled his knights to retreat, and slowly they backed away, some pulling their horses, others still in the saddle.  The manticore was fending off four men—Arthur pulled his sword and went to join them.  Another dozen knights rode out through the gates, lances and spears in hand.

“Fall back!”  The tall brunette knight shouted.  He had dismounted and was using a crossbow.   Merlin reached for Arthur as he and the other knights jumped out of the way of the oncoming charge.  Once again, lances struck and spears lodged, but the manticore remained uninjured.

“Tenacious thing,” the brunette knight said, standing next to Arthur and Merlin.  The man had brown eyes, and Merlin could see a faded scar on his right hand.

“Perhaps we should try throwing rocks at it,” Arthur said.

“We just need to keep it busy.”  The man picked up a spear and threw it at the creature.  Arthur stepped toward it, jabbing it with his sword.  Men had surrounded the creature and were doing the same.

“One, two, three, four, and many more, all around,” the creature twisted in a slow circle.  It spun again, fast, unleashing its tail—men jumped back or ducked—some were struck.  Merlin watched from the sidelines.  Those who could, picked themselves up.  From the gates another man rode up.

“Blaise!” the Cameliard knight shouted.  “How do we deal with this?”

The man dismounted.  He was dark—dark hair, deep eyes, dark robes.  “Give me an arrow, Percival,” he said to the knight.

The manticore leaped around, dodging, taunting Arthur and the remaining men.  Merlin stepped toward Percival and Blaise to see what they were doing.  Blaise dipped an arrow into some vial, then said a spell Merlin couldn’t quite make out.

“Will that stop it?”

Blaise looked at Merlin, surprised, as if he hadn’t seen him approach.  “Aim for the mouth—try to get it into its throat,” he said to Percival.

Percival took the arrow and dashed toward the manticore, which was squared off against Arthur and two other knights.  The other men were retreating. 

“Hey!”  Percival aimed his crossbow.  “Any chance we can talk about this?”

The manticore smiled and swiveled around, thrashing its tail.  Arthur and the men hit the ground.

“Of course,” it smiled large, slinking its head down to meet Percival, its teeth displayed.  “I _love_ negotia—”  It choked.  Percival stood rooted, crossbow still aimed though unloaded, watching as the manticore crumpled before him, breaking, crumbling, turning to a pile of dust.

Percival lowered the crossbow, his face stoic.

Merlin sighed, then ran to Arthur and helped him up.

“It’s destroyed,” Merlin said.

“I can see that,” Arthur said, looking toward Percival, toward Blaise, to the walls of Cameliard.  Knights were scouring the field, tending to the wounded, picking up the dead.  Others from the castle came out to assist.  Blaise walked up to Arthur and Merlin.

“You must be hurt,” he said, eyeing Arthur up and down.  “The rest of your men are already inside, c’mon.”  He gestured with his head and led them through the gates into the keep of King Leodogran of Cameliard.  The sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

“So—that was it?”  Gwen stood looking at Gaius, who was studying the now-empty vial.  “A mysterious woman just left the cure for the transformations on your table?  And that’s it?”

“It seems that way.  Everyone’s back to normal.”  Gaius sat at his workbench, speaking as much to himself as to Gwen.  Most of the books and papers were still strewn about, but some had been placed back on the shelves.

“What does Uther say?”

“He has thanked me for my diligence, and credited me with stopping this most-recent threat to the sanctity and safety of Camelot.”  Gaius put the vial down and picked up the note.

“So, what about the mist?”

Gaius looked out the window where the fog had failed to descend that evening and shrugged.

“It seems to have taken care of itself.”

Indeed the sky was crystalline—thousands of stars pierced the jet night, proclaiming the constellations and coalescing into the Milky Way.  The denizens of Camelot peered through windows and cracked doors, or wandered the streets to breath in the clear air—a collective sigh of relief.  Around corners a cloaked figure smuggled herself, though few would have bothered noting one more person out this night.  She left the city and made her way to a tiny clearing in the surrounding forest.

“I suppose I won’t be needing these anymore.”  Morgana held the little blue bag in her hands.

“What happened?”  Morgause appeared behind her.

“Some witch has chosen to side with the enemy—she knew too much to be a random stranger.”  Morgana offered the bag to Morgause.  “She was lithe, dark hair, black eyes.  Had a kind voice.”

Morgause lifted the bag out of Morgana’s hand without seeing it—her eyes wandered through the bag and Morgana.

“You know who she is?” Morgana said.  “She seemed familiar—I feel I know her somehow.”

“It’s possible.”  Morgause turned away and began pacing the clearing.  “I know of a black-eyed witch—magic runs in her family.  Her mother was a powerful seer, prescient enough to keep her gifts a secret—not that it saved her.  In Uther’s world all those with magic meet the same fate, you would do well to remember that.”

“How can I forget.”

“You seem to have given up.”

“I’m just not sure now is the best time.  Arthur’s gone, and I’m not interested in plunging Camelot into chaos.  Somebody just needs to stop Uther.”

“Somebody?  But not you?  You’re the one with access.”  Morgause stared into Morgana.

“Like I said, Arthur’s away.  And I don’t enjoy watching innocent people suffer—that’s what Uther does.”

“If you don’t watch yourself, Morgana, you may not end up liking the side you’re on.”

“Then I’d better consider my allegiances carefully.  Goodbye Morgause—I’m sure I’ll see you again.” 

Morgana returned to Camelot, to her darkened chambers.  As she turned into bed, she found a note upon her pillow:  _Uther was not responsible for my mother’s death_. 

Nothing more.

 

                                                                                          ~Ò~

 

“Well you’re not dead yet.”

Taran opened his eyes to find Cadoc sitting on the edge of his bed.  “Give the world some time,” he said, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

The room they were in contained a dozen or so beds, all but one occupied by a sleeping man.  Sir Brandt’s leg had been set and other knights were being treated for their injuries, some for the same poison as Taran, though several had died from it.  The stone floor between the beds was worn and dirty—an established path for tending the wounded.  Windows in one wall revealed the clear night sky—opposite that wall a door led out into the corridor, while a second door in a third wall led to Blaise’s lab—a room full of books, ledgers, papers, letters, scrolls, alchemical apparati, jars, vials, tinctures, herbs, potions, extracts, plant leaves, roots, candles and one large cauldron by an equally large fireplace.  This room also had a door to the outer corridor, as well as a small adjoining chamber where Blaise slept.

Merlin and Arthur sat in Blaise’s lab as he tended to a scratch on Arthur’s arm that had started to fester.

“So, that was it?”  Arthur looked from Blaise to Percival, who was sitting on a chair near the window.  “Poof, magic arrow, dead manticore—that was it?  That was all it took?”

Merlin watched Blaise daub some mixture onto Arthur’s wound and waited for him to say a spell, but “stop fidgeting,” was all Blaise uttered.  Merlin stole glances—as many as he could—at the magic books sitting conspicuously, unapologetically on the shelves and tables—at the room full of magic ingredients.

“You seem insulted that we stopped the thing,” Blaise said.

“No.  No, of course not.  It’s just—the carnage it wrought, all the people it killed.  And destroying it was so simple.”  Arthur poked at the goop on his arm; Blaise slapped his hand away.

“I wouldn’t say it was that simple—some credit must be given to our dear Percival’s skill and courage.”  The young woman entered the chamber, followed by her father.  She had not changed her clothes, but the man behind her was attired in dark-red regalia, a crown upon his head.

“He’s the finest warrior in all the land,” the King beamed.  “Don’t know what he’s doing working for me, but I’m not complaining.”

“It’s my honor, sire,” Percival stood and bowed.  “Princess.”

“Princess.”  Arthur raised his eyebrows at her.

“The Princess Anna, daughter of Leodogran the King of Cameliard,” Blaise said.

“Oh that is a mouthful—proper names shouldn’t begin with _the_.  Shall we have a formal introduction, then?  My name is Anna.”  She held out her hand to shake Arthur’s.  Arthur took her hand and kissed it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my Lady.”

Anna clasped her fingers around his and waited, staring at him.  Arthur turned and bowed his head to Leodogran.  “My Lord.”

“Hmm,” she released Arthur’s hand.  “Percy, I was hoping you could do something for me.”  She linked her arm in Percival’s and led him toward the door, stopping at the threshold.

“None of your men have given their names either,” Leodogan stepped toward Arthur.  “Did you lose them?”

Merlin gazed from Arthur to Leodogran, but turned his ear to Anna and Percival in the doorway.  _Take Sanam,_ she was saying.  _The midwife?_   Percival replied.

“I know it’s strange, and asking a lot, but I have my reasons for secrecy,” Arthur said.

_I know you have to wait until dawn, and there’s not much chance . . ._

“Reasons to hide one’s identity is a short list—you might as well tell us,” Blaise said.

_The house isn’t far—four were living there—please, be sure._   Percival bowed and left.  Anna moved to her father’s side.

Arthur looked to Merlin, glanced at the door leading to the larger room where his nine remaining knights slept, at Anna, then said to Leodogran,

“I am not your enemy, and you have my word that we will cause no harm to your kingdom as long as we are here.  But I cannot tell you my name.”

Leodogran contemplated Arthur for a moment.  “Then you are welcome in Cameliard as long as you wish to stay—at least until you and your men heal.”

“Thank you, my lord.”  Arthur bowed low.

“Now come, if Blaise is done with you,” Leodogran looked to his physician who nodded, “join us for supper, and regale us with what you can tell.”

Arthur nodded and followed Leodogran out of the room. 

“You, too,” Anna said, taking Merlin’s arm and leading him out.  “Unless there’s some reason not to?”

Merlin shook his head and smiled, letting the Princess lead him through the grey halls of Cameliard, where for the first time in his life, he would dine with a king in a kingdom of magic.

 

 

_\--end--_


End file.
